


Fairy Tail Tales

by Impracticaldemon



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Multi, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-11-01 18:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10927728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impracticaldemon/pseuds/Impracticaldemon
Summary: A collection of my Fairy Tail one-shots (or mostly one-shots) for characters or ships that don't fit into either my Gajevy or Jerza collections or into a ship week.NOTE:  I am still moving some works over from Fanfiction at this time and there are a number of Fairy Tail stories to go.





	1. Soft Shadows

**A/Note** : The prompt for this story was "For drabbles and asks - relationship firsts and Yukino". Since I've never written about Yukino and I'm only just starting the 2014 Fairy Tail anime series at the time of writing, this short piece took a little extra time to put together.

A rather bittersweet story, but I hope that you enjoy it - as a "might have been" if nothing else.

~Impracticaldemon

* * *

**Soft Shadows**

* * *

Yukino had wanted to be a part of Sabretooth for several years, but now she had been humiliated, stripped of her membership and guild mark, and expelled. It should have been difficult to pick a "worst thing", since it had all been terrible, from losing to Kagura to facing the Guild Master's sanction. However, if she asked her bleeding heart, the answer was clear: Sting's indifference to–no, his approval of–her punishment, was the worst thing about the entire disaster.

Sting had always seemed invincible to Yukino–a golden, shining light to be respected, admired, and adored. Hers was an unrequited passion, of course, but that had never disturbed her unduly. It had merely added to her need to prove herself by winning her battles at all costs.

Strangely, it had been the twin–dark, silent Rogue–who had seemed disturbed by the Master's harsh treatment. Unlike golden Sting, his black eyes had frowned at the Master, not at her, or so it had seemed. Of course, both men been behind her for most of that awful ceremony. Most of it, but not all. When she had turned to leave, belongings gathered in her arms but otherwise naked, they had been right in front of her, foremost among the assembled guild members.

In that moment, she had realized that Sting not only did not love her, but that he didn't think of her as a person at all, exactly–it was what he had been taught and all that he knew. It was the black eyes that had flickered with compassion, not the blue. Yukino could sense Rogue's distress at her humiliation, although he had hidden it quickly. Compassion was not a trait that Sabretooth Guild encouraged.

Rogue had come to see her while she packed, and somehow she had known that he had slipped away in secret, careful not to let anyone, especially Sting, know where he was. She had let him in without asking questions, and he stood near her now, the frown from earlier back in his eyes.

"I regret that this has happened," he said at last. Yukino knew that he had chosen his words carefully so as not to openly criticize either the Master or the Guild itself.

"I know, Rogue-sama. I undertand. And… I failed. This is one of the prices."

"Just one? Oh." Rogue was exceptionally intelligent; it only took a moment for him to remember that she had lost more than a match to Kagura–she had also lost a bet, and she had staked her life.

Yukino was startled when he reached out and touched her shoulder. At least she was dressed now, if only in an ordinary sleeveless top and skirt. The beautiful white and blue cape was folded away, forfeited along with… everything else. Rogue's hand felt oddly heavy on her bare shoulder. He was so quiet that people sometimes forgot that his darkness was the match for Sting's light–he was a strong man and a powerful mage.

"Please forgive my intrusion and also my… forwardness, I suppose," Rogue murmured. He was slightly flushed, and despite her half-dazed state, Yukino wondered why. Then his other hand clasped one of hers and held it up between them. With something that sounded like a sigh, he bowed his head and lifted her hand to his lips.

It was a strange, courtly gesture, and Yukino was at once confused and soothed. His lips on the backs of her fingers were soft and warm, a promise of unbroken friendship and a hint of something more. She heard herself inhale sharply–a small gasp of surprise, nothing else.

"I–Rogue-sama, I don't–I mean…" She trailed off when he looked up at her, smiling a little sadly.

"I know. It's not me that you see when you close your eyes. But it doesn't matter. Just remember that I am still your friend, no matter what. I believe that Sting will understand better–will see what's right in front of him–one day. For now, try not to give up completely. Promise me."

Yukino blinked at him, unsure what to do or say. He had not relinquished either her shoulder or her hand. Eventually she nodded uncertainly.

"I promise not to give up. I have a plan." She hesitated, but decided to keep the details to herself. "Thank you for worrying about me."

Slowly, as if waiting to be scolded, she raised her free hand and touched the other mage's cheek. The light flush on Rogue's face deepened, but he didn't say or do anything to stop her. When she stretched up to place her lips lightly on his, he still didn't move, except to bow his head and gently accept the kiss. When she moved away again, he was careful not to constrain her.

They stood looking at each other for a minute or two, and then released each other's hands at almost the same moment. Yukino, suddenly acutely conscious of what had just happened–of what she had done–couldn't speak.

"I need to go back to my room before I'm missed," Rogue said calmly. _Before Sting notices I'm gone_ , he meant.

Yukino ducked her head in acknowledgment. "I need to finish my packing," she replied, striving for the same calm. It occurred to her that they were both putting their masks back on. She wondered if they would ever speak of that brief kiss and concluded that they wouldn't–not unless things changed a great deal.

"Good night, Yukino. And… be careful. Look after yourself."

"Thank you, Rogue-sama. You, too. Be well."

An instant later, Rogue was gone. Yukino lifted her fingers to her lips. It had all been very strange, like being in a particularly realistic but not necessarily believable dream. She was quite certain, though, that she would never forget her first kiss.

* * *

**END**

* * *

**Please review or comment** if you have a moment! I'd like to know how people found this. Thank you for reading!

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Close Your Eyes and Open Your Hands

**Author’s Note:**

Somebody asked me to write more **Mira x Freed** (or at least I decided to take their question that way), so I **picked a prompt at random** and got this (the prompt is **the title** ). It was **supposed**  to be a one-shot. We’ll see.

* * *

## Close Your Eyes and Hold Out Your Hands

* * *

 

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

How many times had Mirajane said that to others? Countless times to her younger brother and sister (set aside the ache at the memory of losing Lisanna). Many times with friends and coworkers. It hadn’t occurred to her before, but she had almost always been the one giving the instructions. She eyed the green-haired man across the bar from her dubiously.

“I’m working right now, Freed,” she said hesitantly, not quite liking to tell him that she didn’t know what to make of him yet, which meant that she was reluctant to close her eyes. It was unlike her to be so hesitant with a patron once they had been coming into the bar for a few weeks. On the rare occasions that she really didn’t like somebody, the person would find the service poor and the company surly, and go off in search of a more convivial place to eat and drink.

“Ms. Alberona,” Freed said to the woman who was nursing a dark drink a couple of seats down, “will you watch me to ensure fair play?”

“Oh?” Cana Alberona looked up from contemplating liquor in front of her. She turned on her bar stool, crossing one well-shaped, muscular leg over the other and letting a sandal dangle from one foot. She’d seen the man called Freed—whose last name escaped her—before, but she hadn’t realized that he was interested in Mira. That was surprising. Cana kept a close eye on Mira and acted as the bar’s unofficial bouncer whenever Mira’s brother Elfman wasn’t around.

“Ms. Strauss is concerned that I will do something inappropriate if she closes her eyes, I think.”

Cana snorted. “I’d like to see you try!”

“Would you?” The man gave her an appraising sort of look, and Cana felt a strange desire to shiver. That was ridiculous. Freed was a reasonably tall man, and looked very fit, but the neat, summer-weight jacket and too-new black jeans argued against the kind of power it would take to make even a dent on Magnolia’s reigning bare-knuckles champion (men and women). Cana’s eyes narrowed.

“Do you fight?” she asked peremptorily.

“Only when I must.” The man shrugged, dismissing the topic, and returned to his initial question. “I would like to give a small gift to Ms. Strauss, but rules are rules. I thought that if you were watching, Ms. Alberona, then Ms. Strauss would be more amenable to closing her eyes.”

“Are you serious?”

“About which part?”

“You know she’s nervous, but you want her to close her eyes anyway just because of some kids’ game? You know: ‘Open your hands and close your eyes and you will get a nice surprise!’ People learned not to play games with _me_ a _long_ time ago.”

Freed shook his head. “This isn’t a game.” He smiled at Mirajane, and Cana saw his expression soften, going from cool and impersonal to gentle and admiring. And yet, there was a weird feel to it that Cana couldn’t put her finger on. “Well, Ms. Strauss?” the man said quietly to Mira.

Mirajane had been following the rather odd conversation in silence, her usual forthright cheerfulness dimmed by the uneasy discomfort that seemed to come over her whenever the green-haired man was around. There was something about him that called to her, but she had no idea why. Called to her and made her nervous, for no discernable reason. Nevertheless, she had a job to do and she was damned if she’d let anyone make her twitchy like this in her own bar.

“Oh, sure. It’s not a problem, especially with Cana here.” Mira smiled, seeming to shrug off any apprehension she’d been feeling. “Besides, rules are rules and I like gifts!” She closed her eyes and reached her hands across the bar.

With the rather old-fashioned care that seemed to characterize him, Freed pressed a small, flat object into Mira’s outstretched hands. Cana leaned forward to see better. It looked like a compact, but an expensive one, or maybe a folding mirror. The colours were bright and the material didn’t seem to be plastic, although it was hard to say.

“Now, what do you think it is?” Freed asked Mira, as she took the object. “And no peeking, Ms. Strauss.”

“Call me Mirajane,” said Mira, turning the present gently in her hands. “Hmm. I’d say it’s a small case—I can feel a hinge, I think—but since it’s round, maybe a mirror? Well, that’s my guess. For some reason, I think it’s a mirror.”

“Go ahead and open it, Mirajane,” Freed told her. “But don’t open your eyes yet.”

Mira opened the thing and Cana leaned forward for a closer look. A small flash suggested that it was in fact a mirror. Something was odd, though.

“Does it—does it have mirrors in both halves?” Mirajane asked, slightly puzzled as her finger carefully traced not one but two smooth surfaces.

“Good guess,” answered Freed. “Alright, you can open your eyes.” He leaned forward, obviously interested in Mira’s reaction. Cana suddenly felt as though her friend really shouldn’t open her eyes, but then—

“Oh it’s lovely!” Mira exclaimed, opening her eyes on the unusual gift. “But how odd that there are two mirrored faces instead of just one. You’d think that might damage the surface—surfaces.”

“It is a very unusual arrangement,” the giver agreed. “Then again, it is intended for those who are—very unusual.”

Mirajane didn’t seem to hear the last bit. There was a slight crease between her brows, and she was staring into the compact mirror as though transfixed by her own image. Cana hurried around the bar to stand beside her and glanced at the double mirrors. The top mirror showed Mira’s lovely face, and her blue eyes and white hair. The lower mirror though…

“What the hell is this?!” Cana looked quickly up at Freed from Mira’s side. “And who or what the hell are you? Come on Mira, honey, look at me—don’t keep staring at that thing!” Cana alternated between shaking Mirajane and glaring at Freed.

“Hell indeed,” murmured Freed. “But the Two-Faced Mirror never lies, you know. As for me, I’m a demon hunter.”

“What?!”

Behind the bar, Mirajane sank to her knees. “No, no, no… I’m not… I’m not a demon, I’m not!” She couldn’t take her eyes from the mirror: the loveliness in the top half and the scaled, horned horror in the bottom half. The eyes were the same though, and in both halves they looked scared.

“Well, you see, you’re _partly_ a demon,” Freed told her. “Though you’ve done an unusually good job of repressing that part.” He still seemed relaxed, although his eyes—blue like Mirajane's—told a different story.

Cana had had enough. She put herself between the green-haired man and the suddenly cowering woman. “You tell me what the _fuck_ is going on, right now, or I’m going to hit you so hard you’ll be out until next week.”

“I’ve been trying to track down Ms. Strauss for several years. She was a witness to a terrible incident when she was young, and we were concerned that the demonic creature involved managed to… affect her… when she fought it off.”

“Demonic creature? Tell me another one!”

“As you wish.” Freed appeared to remain unperturbed. “Although it would be easier for your friend if you would allow me to help her. It was necessary to use the Mirror in order to ascertain the truth—that some part of the demon or its magic did, ah, incorporate itself into her—but now that I know what I’m dealing with I can—”

Finding herself wholly unable to budge Mirajane, who had somehow become much, much stronger than ever before—although she was now whimpering—Cana vaulted the bar, reaching for Freed’s collar, or possibly neck. Much to her chagrin, he stepped to one side with surprising speed, his hand somehow scratching her bare lower back as he “assisted” her forward momentum. She stumbled and skidded, but managed to turn, ready to launch herself a second time. And why the hell hadn’t the other patrons moved? There weren’t many at this time of day—mid-afternoon—but the place hadn’t been empty for crying out loud!

“Come **ON** people! Help me out here!”

“They can’t hear you. And before you ask, it’s magic—dark magic unfortunately, but one works with what one has. Now stay put and you won’t get hurt. I have to help Ms. Strauss before her mind breaks.”

“Like hell I’ll stay put you fucking bastard! Magic my ass!” Now that she knew of his speed, Cana planned her next move more carefully. To her annoyance, Freed ignored her and cleared the bar as effortlessly as she had a minute or two before. She took two steps forward and felt searing pain across her back. Crap—had he poisoned her somehow? Cana tried to take another step, but this time the pain was dizzying as it flared through her whole nervous system. She crashed to her knees, sweating.

“Please try not to injure yourself further.” Freed’s cool voice from somewhere beyond her agony-glazed eyes was maddening. “Not knowing your limits, I had to plan for a high tolerance. I suggest that you don’t test the runes any further. I am looking after your friend now.”

Maddened with pain and truly frightened for the first time in a very long time, Cana felt rage blossom into energy. _Damn damn damn!_ Uncontrolled gouts of something like green fire streaked toward the bar and blew a gaping hole in it. Then the pain reached unendurable levels, and Cana passed out.

“That could have gone better,” Freed muttered to himself, cradling the shivering Mirajane in his arms. “I didn’t realize that Ms. Alberona was such a strong latent. Can’t be helped now though. I’ve got the demon, that’s the important part.”

Without a further glance at the smoking bar or the unconscious Cana Alberona, the green-haired, self-proclaimed demon-hunter strode out of the bar.

**[END] [MAYBE]**

* * *

**Note:** Yes, I do know what’s going on, more or less. But I thought I’d keep it under 2000 words for once. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**~Impracticaldemon**


	3. A Glimpse Beneath the Surface

**Chapter 3: A Glimpse Beneath the Surface**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

A birthday ficlet written for  **Sanguine Fairy**  and her Word of the Day Prompt for June 22, 2017.

May have been partially inspired by a previous ficlet about Yukino and Rogue, and Yukino's departure from Sabretooth ( _Soft Shadows_ , chapter 1 of  ** _Fairy Tail Tales_** ).

**Words: ~700**

_~Impracticaldemon_

* * *

**A Glimpse Beneath the Surface  
Word of the Day:  _Apple Polish (v. "to apple polish")_**

* * *

Minerva glanced out the window, her lovely features and graceful head and neck outlined against the evening glow. She allowed Sting to fidget behind her and noted with self-directed amusement that she rather wished she could make Rogue do the same.

"Oh do calm down, Sting," she murmured over her shoulder.

"Easy for you to say," grumbled Sting, although he looked guiltily at the slight dent in the doorframe from an over-enthusiastic kick.

Rogue continued to say nothing. Minerva turned to him, determined to somehow break that self-contained stillness.

"Fairy Tail could stand to learn a lesson, don't you agree Rogue?"

"Maybe." Rogue's eyes were dark and flat as they observed the Master's daughter's face. "They certainly seem to know how to give them."

"Hmmm…" Minerva moved closer to dark-haired Slayer and trailed a finger lightly down his jaw, a faint smile touching her lips when she felt him shiver ever so slightly. Then her hand suddenly gripped his chin in a vice-like hold, as proximity brought her a faint, familiar scent and her eyes caught sight of a single white hair half-hidden by a fold of dark cloak. "Said a tearful farewell to the snow-maiden, did you?" she mocked, none to gently. "I hadn't realized that you were so close."

Sting eyed his partner in surprise: "You saw Yukino? When?"

"We weren't close," Rogue said, shrugging and calmly ignoring the fingernails digging into his skin. Minerva hated that she was left to guess how much of the calm was feigned. "But I did speak with her before she left. When she was packing."

"You weren't supposed to see her at all," noted Minerva, wondering what would happen if she continued to grip his face. He'd never enjoyed prolonged contact with anyone except on his own terms.

"Well I can't blame him," said Sting, abruptly coming to stand beside Rogue.

Minerva decided that she'd rather take on the challenge of Rogue's self-control another day, when Sabertooth wasn't already in chaos following Natsu Dragneel's invasion. She let go of his chin and gently patted his cheek, her spirits lifting when she saw his eyes narrow at being treated like a young child. Her smile at Sting was unfeigned—she'd always liked the way he projected both power and confidence—but she kept her tone sharp when she replied.

"Why can't you blame him, Sting? Yukino has been banished from Sabretooth because she failed. The last I heard you were one of the strongest proponents of our code."

Sting crossed his arms, but didn't look down as Minerva's hard, bright eyes met his.

"She knew the rules and she paid the price for failure, I get it," he said gruffly. "I just think the rest of it was… unnecessary."

"I'm surprised at you Sting," Minerva responded, raising her well-defined brows. "You've never gone in for apple-polishing, precisely, but until now you've always—shall we say heartily endorsed?—the Master's approach." She crossed to the center of the room and propped one hip against a table, the slit of her dress falling open slightly to reveal one perfect, muscular leg. She surveyed the two young men from under her dark lashes, admiring their good looks while deploring the weakness they were showing. Before Sting could react to her comment, she added: "Or were you also a secret admirer of the pretty, little, baby angel?"

The irritation and embarrassment on Sting's face could mean a number of things, Minerva decided, but the faint—ah, but not quite faint enough!—redness on Rogue's pale features suggested that there was something of interest to explore. Sadly, it would have to wait. There were other things to be dealt with first, such as winning the Grand Magic Games.

* * *

**[END]**

* * *

Please leave **a short note or comment** if you like the story! Your encouragement is always appreciated. \\(^u^)/


	4. A Kiss for Kinabra

**Author's Note:**

This story was written for a request I received on Tumblr: "Would you mind writing something about Kinabra, please? A kiss would be nice, but you choose^^"

It took me a while to get to, but I've been thinking about it since I got the request, and finally got it written up.

I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**A Kiss for Kinana**   
_by request_

* * *

The Fairy Tail Guild had hosted an all-guilds ball for Valentine's Day earlier in the year.  **[1]**  The decorations had been magnificent, the food had been superb (Erza had chosen the desserts), and the drinks had been almost-but-not-entirely-free from magical shenanigans.

As usual, the antics of the rowdier mages had been spectacular. Kinana, who had been diligently acting as wait-staff throughout the evening, had even heard that Gray-san had somehow stolen Lyon-san's specially-hired canal boat and then turned it over to Guildmaster Jellal and Erza-san for the rest of the evening. That sounded improbable at best, which meant that it was likely true. In any event, Kinana had been surprisingly uninterested in all of strange (i.e., usual) goings-on. The thing was… well, the thing was that Erik, the dragon slayer also known as Cobra, had arrived at Fairy Tail along with his guildmaster and colleagues. Kinana had known him immediately.

When she had last seen him, he had been taken into custody by magical law-enforcement officials before she could talk to him properly. He had insisted that he wasn't the one who had been calling out to her for some time previously, but she'd known better. She had abided by his clear wish for her not to become embroiled with his problems, and she had watched him go. They had shared a smile then that had seemed to hold a promise - or at least a sliver of hope - for the future. So why had she not seen him since? True, he had been imprisoned for some time, but eventually, Jellal-san had formed Crime Sorcière and he had somehow been released.

Somebody - Wakaba, perhaps - had explained that Crime Sorcière was not like other guilds. They were a guild of loners and misfits; people making up for past crimes that were not easily forgiven or forgotten. Kinana had nodded as though she understood, but she had still woken most mornings wondering if  _today_  was the day that he would finally be able to come to the Fairy Tail guildhall so that they could finally be together again, in some as-yet-unknown way. It had been very odd to sense him approaching the hall on that February evening; even stranger to see him looking somehow more whole than he had before - healthier in both body and spirit.

She had waited patiently for him to come find her, knowing without words that he didn't want every interaction scrutinized by the mingling throng. It had finally happened when the expected brawling had begun - and only after Erza-san had departed with Guildmaster Jellal.

_Thank you for waiting. I'd promised the others to do my part to make sure Jellal finally took a break and, uh, spent some time with Erza._

The incredible relief at hearing the longed-for for voice in her mind had almost overcome her then, but she had finished serving her customer before requesting a break from Mirajane that was promptly allowed. With a sigh and a slight shiver, she had stepped out the back door of the guildhall into the frosty air.

"Not really warm enough for you here, I'm sorry." Erik's voice - Cobra's voice – had been at once entirely unknown and perfectly familiar to Kinana. It had been disorienting, but she had moved closer to the man nonetheless.

They had studied each other in silence for some time. Kinana had been unsure what to do, or say, and Erik had seemed content to just stand there with her. Eventually, he had given her a rather twisted smile.

"I guess I should let you get back to work – and get out of the cold, too." And then, even before she could react to the terribly common-place and therefore hurtful words, he had flung up a hand and added: "No – wait! Ah, I knew I'd be terrible at this…"

Kinana had stared at him wordlessly, unsure for the first time whether she was wanted. Before, even while he had been imprisoned, even while he had stayed away, she had known with certainty that he wanted to be with her, although the  _shape_  of the relationship had been unclear. Somehow that had changed, just over the course of this evening.

"It's like this." Erik had fidgeted briefly with his elegant jacket before meeting her eyes. "We met once, late at night, with the sky practically unravelling around us and chaos everywhere. I was injured and you were exhausted – honestly, what I remember most is your white face and dark eyes. But, see, in  _my_  mind you are – you were – a giant snake, even though I had finally begun to get it – that you weren't exactly a snake at all. When we met, before they locked me up, it was so clear to me that you were both a girl  _and_  my former companion, who was the being I… trusted most."

Hesitantly, because she spoke relatively infrequently, even under normal circumstances, Kinana had asked: "A-and now you aren't sure who I am? I don't understand. I know who you are even though I don't  _remember_  you."

Erik had run a lean, scarred hand through his red hair and looked away. "I just didn't expect this. I didn't expect you to be a quiet, pretty girl and I didn't expect to have this weird double-vision thing going – like, I know who you are too, even I though I've only seen this you once before." He had made a sound between an exasperated huff and an angry hiss, and Kinana had automatically put her hand on his shoulder in sympathy.

She still hadn't quite understood the problem, but that was nothing new. She had always been unusual, she supposed – it had frustrated Mirajane and Cana several times that she had no interest at all in the men and women around her except as friends or colleagues or people who wanted drinks. What she had sensed in that moment with Erik had been something like that same frustration, and it had pained her to be so awkward.

"I can see that it is easier for me," she had told him. "You haven't changed, but I have."

"You're wrong about that, though – I've definitely changed. Still don't have much patience for idiots who get in my way, but… yeah, I'd like to think I'm a bit better than I was."

"I think," Kinana had said slowly, choosing her words carefully, "that you must always have been kind to me, then."

"Hah! Yeah, there is that. I guess from your perspective things are a little different. But you suffered right along with everyone else when things went crazy here, remember? And that was partly my fault."

Kinana had stared at him stubbornly. "It doesn't matter." She shivered involuntarily; she had never handled the cold well.

Erik had reached up and gently taken the hand that lay on his shoulder. He had squeezed it tightly for a long moment, and she could feel the rough, dry skin and the many heavy callouses. Once again, it had been unknown but familiar.

"You need to warm up – and I mean it. Cubellios or Kinana – snake or girl – you sure don't like the cold." He hesitated and then with an odd, rueful smile, he pulled her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders.

The warmth of him was very pleasant, Kinana had decided. He felt right and smelled right and sounded right.

"Give me some time to think about things. I promise I'll be back to see you one way or another, okay? And if you, um, find some guy – no, scratch that. No guys. Or girls. Just – I don't know how long I'll be, since Jellal can be such a tight-assed slave-driver and we don't exactly take a lot of time off. No rest for the wicked, as they say."

"I can wait. Please… please don't let Jellal-san keep you away for longer than you need to be…"

"I'll do my best, Cu-Kinana." He had released her rather abruptly, suddenly aware that she had pressed herself tightly against him when he had spoken of leaving. "I promise, okay? And I don't take promises lightly, even if I'm not the sweetest guy in creation."

"You are you," Kinana had responded, unanswerably.

They had gone in after that – or rather, Kinana had gone back in through the kitchen and Erik had rejoined the guests in the main hall. For the first time, Kinana had felt forlorn as a variety of couples had danced and kissed and slipped away together. It had never really bothered her before, since she had been quite sure of the person for whom she was waiting.

* * *

Six months passed. The quiet-spoken, purple-haired girl had gotten a little quieter, but she still smiled at her friends and did whatever she could to support the guild through all their crazy mishaps. She didn't notice Mirajane give Cana a thoughtful look, when she became more prone to abstraction, nor did she hear Cana murmur to Erza that although  _she_ —Erza—was looking happier, apparently  _other_  people hadn't been as  _lucky_  during Crime Sorcière's Valentine's Day visit.

When Erik did return, it was entirely unexpected, and Kinana was taking a turn at the bar while Mirajane served guildmembers. For a moment, she felt almost dizzy. His slightly reptilian eyes went immediately to her when he walked in, and he gave her an oddly cautious smile. Erik was not usually one for cautious smiles. Wild grins, mocking smirks… that was more his style.

He spoke briefly with Mirajane, who nodded vigourously and all but pushed him toward the bar. Again, Kinana was surprised—to let  _Mira_  know about something, even indirectly, was to let the world know (more or less). Erik kept his eyes on Kinana, as though making sure she wasn't about to disappear. When he reached the bar, he found Macao waiting for him, although he hadn't noticed the slightly older man there when he'd entered.

Erik didn't really need to read the man's mind to know that he was concerned about Kinana. He was a little surprised to find out how much the guy cared about her though—apparently he felt responsible for her and figured that since he'd looked out for her this long he shouldn't stop now. Macao didn't say anything, though—he just gave Erik the kind of long look that in the past would've pushed all of the poison slayer's buttons. With an effort, he kept his hands at his sides and his voice level.

"Mirajane says it's okay to take a break, Kinana"—no getting her name wrong this time!—"so I thought maybe we could go for a walk."

With a quick, reassuring smile at Macao, Kinana quickly came around the bar to join Erik. She could feel the smile starting to widen when he gestured at the front door. No hiding this time. That was more than she'd hoped for, really. No, that was a lie. Ever since Valentine's Day she'd wanted something more than just recognition.

It was awkward, leaving the big hall together, knowing that people would talk because they always talked. By the time the big doors closed behind them, Erik could feel his usual cold smirk firmly in place, and he realized that he was forcing Kinana to half-run to keep up with him.

"Come on, let's head out toward the forest," he growled, before shaking his head to clear the residual annoyance of having people staring at him. "I mean… fewer people, better chance to talk, right?"

"Sure."

Erik reduced his stride to accommodate the petite Kinana, taking some pleasure in discovering that his memory hadn't lied—she was very pretty. Not that looks really mattered to him, mind you. It was just a nice bonus.

Once they were well away from town, the poison slayer slowed down even further and started to tell Kinana about his most recent mission with Jellal and his guild. It had been a pretty ugly adventure, start to finish—the dark guilds that got targeted by Crime Sorciere were always the strongest and usually the vilest. His companion listened in silence, although she seemed grateful for his hand around hers during the worst of the story. Eventually he wound down.

"So, yeah—that's pretty much what we do. The truth is, the stuff we see really isn't too far off things we've done ourselves in the past…"

"I see."

"And we don't have a pretty guildhall like Fairy Tail or the others."

"That makes sense."

"Are you listening to me?"

Kinana looked startled. "Yes. Always."

Her companion stopped and turned to face her with a short bark of laughter for the tone of surprise in her voice.

"So. You haven't changed your mind."

It was a statement, but she answered anyway. "No, of course not."

"… Tell me one thing, then. What can I do for you? I don't think life'll be easy for a few more years yet."

"Oh…" Kinana gazed up at him wistfully, thinking that his shock of rusty hair and slightly draconic—or snakelike—eyes were very intense, and dramatic in a way that nobody else could match. "Well, there is one thing, actually." She gathered up her courage. "If you are—I think you are?—saying that we could be a-a proper couple… then I would very much like a kiss."

Very few people ever caught Erik off-guard, for obvious reasons, but he blinked several times before repeating: "A kiss?"

"Yes?" Kinana began to redden further.

Very gently, Erik took her face in his hands, cradling the soft skin like porcelain. He bent his head, inhaled slightly, and then carefully, but firmly, kissed her lips. After a moment, he let one hand slide down her neck to embrace her shoulders, so that he could pull her more tightly against him.

It was surprising, he thought, that happiness could sometimes be so simple.

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**[END]**

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**[1]**  This is a not-so-oblique reference to a previous work,  _The Valentine's Day Community Relationship and Bonding Soirée_. That story is best described as a wild romp, concocted between  **DancesWithSeatbelts**  ( **nalufever**  on tumblr) and myself over the course of several late nights. Not for the faint of heart.

**A/Note:**  As always, reviews and comments are much appreciated! I hope I did justice to your request, Anon!

~Impracticaldemon


	5. A Famiglia Affair

**Author's Note: A gift fic for gsut on tumblr,** who is intelligent, sassy, kind to others, **and above all not afraid to carpe that diem.**  I promised to try my hand at writing a story for her favourite Fairy Tail pair many months ago, and finally just had to get this one down on paper. I hope you enjoy it!

~ _Impracticaldemon_

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**A Famiglia Affair  
March 8 Prompt: Mafia AU**

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It's dangerous to be the new guy in town, especially when the town's at least partly run by the mob and you haven't yet established any local cred. Hell, he still didn't know which cops were on the take and which were clean. Gajeel smiled at the thought. You'd think he'd be pissed about having to start over—again—but actually, it was good. If he didn't know them, then maybe they didn't know him.

He'd run a long way this time, right across the continent. New country, new fake ID, no rep. Well, probably no rep—he hadn't had his face fixed like Lily had suggested, so it was always possible that some hero would recognize his face from studying whatever international copy the law favoured around here for keeping new bad guys off their turf. But chances were good that he wouldn't be made. Gajeel was planning to stay, and this time he wouldn't be letting down his guard for a silly little girl who dreamed of making the world—and him—a whole lot better than it was right now.

"Nope, not goin' there," he muttered aloud. "She's gone, an' so's the bastard who shot her just because she told him the truth an' he didn't like it." Too bad it was her dad; too bad she'd cared enough about him to want him to stop being an asshole.

Gajeel honestly didn't balk at much, and rarely bothered to judge the man paying him, but he had some odd notions about how people should treat each other if they were partners, or married, or family. It was one thing for a hired thug like him to beat up a woman to make a point to her husband—that was just business—but nobody should lay hands on their wife or child. The girl had told him that a person shouldn't hurt or kill other people no matter who they were, but that had never really made sense to Gajeel. To stay alive, and free to get a little fun out of life, it was best to neither trust, nor care about other people too much. And yet, for some reason, his own personal code was that if you  _did_ make the mistake of caring about another person, or got stuck being responsible for them… well, then you did your best by them. He often wondered where that kink in his system had come from, but he wasn't a punk kid anymore, so he'd decided to just accept it and move on.

He'd more or less grown up in the mob, with only a vague memory of the metal-working father who'd loved putting turn-of-the-century cars together too much for the health of his business. When the loan sharks and their bully boys had moved in, his dad had simply moved out—without leaving a forwarding address for his kid. Such was life. The mob wasn't that bad, once he'd established that he was smart, and getting stronger every day.

Then again, his last boss—his second—had beaten his own girl to death because she was too smart, and too determined, to fill the role he'd planned for her. She'd been slipping away from him, and trying to take Gajeel with her. Since she was his kid, and Gajeel his top enforcer, there'd been no compromising. In the end, Gajeel had felt the same way about the no-compromise thing. The boss was a tough guy, but no match for Gajeel's uncanny strength and reflexes. The man's bodyguards hadn't even tried to stop him when he'd handed in his resignation by crushing his boss' throat. Gajeel had taken two bullets in the shoulder, and hadn't even noticed. He'd then cleaned out the safe and lit out, leaving Rome to burn behind him—he suspected that the carrion were still fighting over the carcass of the operation even now.

Gajeel was brought back to the present by the clatter of high heels striking the pavement behind him. He didn't react, but he did turn a little, bringing up an unlit cigarette and a lighter for camouflage. His care was in vain, though. Years spent perfecting both detachment and cynicism among some truly scary people failed to prevent his eyes from widening, or his jaw from dropping—just a fraction—and he found himself straightening abruptly to his full height.

The woman coming toward him had a body to make Michelangelo weep, and a presence like an oncoming hurricane. Her face was an alabaster mask set with ruby lips and glittering dark eyes, and crowned with two elaborate knots of silken black hair. Gajeel was a man who knew and appreciated the niceties of power and intimidation, and he felt utterly outclassed. For a moment.

With stubborn pride, he allowed his stance to relax into a slouch, and lit the cigarette. He adjusted his expression from slight shock to faintly dismissive cynicism—a mask easily donned—and saw the woman's almond eyes narrow, whether in interest or irritation he couldn't say.

She slowed as she neared, and he took note of the bodyguards a little distance behind her—just muscle, as far as he could tell, but probably packing and not to be underestimated when he didn't have back-up. His own favourite piece was in a shoulder holster under his jacket, but most of the time he didn't need to use it.

The clacking stopped; the elegantly shod feet were now level with his on the suddenly empty sidewalk. It had been moderately busy before. He approved of her perfume—soft and musky and unlike the overpowering floral stuff with which most women drenched themselves. With deliberate care, he let his eyes travel up from her classy heels to her beautiful, arrogant face, taking in her silk-stockinged legs and clinging , Schiaparelli dress on the way. Over the years, he'd learned to feign respectful admiration, and offensive lust, and all the combinations in between—this time he kept his expression neutral and his posture just the right side of insolent. He lowered the cigarette from his lips, letting the faint smoke curl around his fingers, and tipped his hat.

"Somethin' I can help you with, ma'am?"

Her eyes were somewhere between rich olive green and very dark grey, he decided. The colour probably varied along with her immaculate eye-makeup. He figured she could handle the scrutiny, since she was taking her time studying him—no doubt wondering about the tailored suit, expensive hat, and good shoes, which he knew didn't tally with his craggy face and unruly, coal black hair. He wore his hair unfashionably long, too, since he didn't like the way it bristled outward like a hedgehog when it was short.

"Maybe you can…" She'd finished her initial appraisal, and a faint smile caressed her lips. "I'd heard you're a competent man, Mr. Redfox, but the photos we had wired to us don't do you justice. Apparently you had the brains to have some savings to travel on."

Gajeel fought to keep surprise off his face at her use of his name. He reminded himself that news traveled a lot faster within the mob than it did through law enforcement channels. Plus, he'd killed his boss, which was a sure-fire way to get famous quick, though it didn't always lead to a long life—La Famiglia expected loyalty from subordinates, even if the guy you offed was the competition. Well, it was time to make an educated guess of his own, and get some good out of the dough he'd spent on information about his new home.

"Thank you for the compliments, Miss Orlando, but don't strain yourself. I came here to work, not to spend time with the ladies—especially a princess like yourself."

To a woman like this, those were fighting words. Gajeel had thought her reputation was exaggerated, but he'd changed his mind the instant he'd realized her probable identity. In his experience, Mafia princesses—the daughters of the  _capos_ —were spoiled rich girls who'd learned from a young age that as long as they were pretty, frivolous, and loyal, they could do as they pleased. The only exception had been the girl who'd died, which pretty much said it all. Until now. Miss Minerva Orlando was far beyond pretty, and she was reputed to be fanatically loyal, but she wasn't frivolous.

Her gloved hand flashed out, aimed at his cheek. He'd been expecting something and was still caught partly off-guard. There'd been no speeches, no whining, no telegraphed movements—just the slap. He would've been even more impressed by a punch to the throat, or solar plexus, but you couldn't have it all. He seized her wrist just before she connected, his own movements lethally fast and intended to impress.

"Not with me, Miss Orlando, though I concede that you're the fastest dame I've ever met."

"You're playing games with the wrong person, Mr. Redfox."

Her left hand caught him under the rib cage, and he learned an important bit of information—Minerva Orlando was strong, as well as fast. He felt the air leave his lungs, and if he'd been just a little weaker, or less experienced, he would've released her right wrist. Fortunately, he'd already seen the glint of silver against the black palm of her glove, and guessed at a hidden needle. She'd slapped him because she'd wanted to strike bare skin. Knowing that, he focussed everything on keeping a tight grip on the wrist and not doubling over.

The click of guns behind him made the situation a little dicier than he usually liked it. On the other hand, it had been a while since he'd been in a good brawl. Without warning, he yanked the brunette into his chest, and pulled in enough oxygen to speak.

"They gonna shoot through you ta get ta me, princess?" He'd meant the term derisively the first time, but suddenly realized that some part of him meant it. Though she was really more of a queen.

"They might," she responded, dismissively. "Those are Daddy's boys, not mine, and things are a bit complicated around here right now. They'll hesitate, though—isn't that nice? Anyway, I could still take you out if I wanted, but I've seen enough. I want to hire you, Mr. Redfox."

"That's goin' a little fast for me, ma'am. You were tryin' ta poison me a minute ago—still are, as far as I know." He ignored her assertion that she could still take him out.

"You weren't going to be much good to me if you'd let me connect with that little slap, and I like to clean up after myself."

Gajeel felt unexpectedly amused, though he didn't smile and didn't let go. "That's a hell of job interview, Miss Orlando—pass or die."

She shrugged. "I have no use for the weak in the first place, Mr. Redfox, and the job I have in mind for you requires strength and skill at least somewhat comparable to my own. I suggest that you accept my offer. You came here to work, so why not work for me?"

"Time ta move, your highness." Gajeel quickly moved sideways, pulling his dangerous captive with him. Behind him, he heard the muscle shout for him to stop.

"Does this mean you'll work for me?" Her voice was still perfectly composed. She wasn't struggling, he noticed.

"Maybe. Tell me where to meet you and we'll talk."

"Fine. Six o'clock tonight at The Zinc. It won't be open, but nobody will be surprised to see me—I often drop by to check on things."

"Be serious." Gajeel was still alive at thirty—that made him an old man in the hired thugs game. He wasn't going to walk into some trap a baby could see a mile away.

"Fine. You name it, I'll be there."

"Same time, sandwich place two blocks down this street. I'll buy you a coffee."

"Shall I wear Chanel or Vonnet?" she demanded ironically.

"Surprise me. And leave the boys outside—you don't need 'em."

The 'boys' in question turned into the alley at that moment, clearly ready to shoot. Gajeel decided to take off, but Minerva had other ideas. She leaned into Gajeel and pulled his head down by one ear. It was disturbing how easily she managed it. He was going to have to think about that.

"You're annoying me, Mr. Redfox," she murmured, her breath warm against his skin. "But you're the only one who survived the interview." Then she pressed a soft kiss against his lips and stepped back, glancing pointedly at her captive wrist. Over her shoulder she called, "Put those things away, children—you aren't scaring anyone here but yourselves."

Very wary—all the more so for being unexpectedly turned on—Gajeel opened his hand, and Minerva turned and walked away, back straight and head high. She paused when she reached her so-called bodyguards and gave Gajeel one last, slow, measuring look. Then she was gone, and the muscle hurried after her.

Gajeel shook his head. This was going to be interesting. He hoped he survived.

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**[END]**

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**A/N:** There is a sequel to this story in my head. I mean, I know what Minerva wants Gajeel to do, and roughly how that will work out, and how things will work out between them. Power dynamics, a lot of steamy heat, and moments of real tenderness. Please let me know what you think of this story, which for now is a one-shot.


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